From the Rabbi

It was one of those moments in synagogue that intrigued me, challenged me to look deeper at Torah commentary. In discourse this Shabbat about the clothing of the High Priest, I was explaining the difference between the word tzitz at the forehead of the High Priest in Exodus 28:36, and tzitzit – the tassels with the singular blue string that we are commanded to extend from the Talit. Twice a day, we read in the Shema prayer: “Speak to the Israelite people and instruct them to make for themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner. That shall be your fringe; look at it and recall all the commandments of The Lord and observe them, so that you do not follow your heart and eyes in your lustful urge.”

Curiously, the Torah does not use the word tzitzit to describe the blue string; the Torah uses the word ptil — like the wick of a candle. Once I pointed out the use of the word ptil, Ari Paul asked why the Torah differentiates the blue thread in its wording. The color is different, of course, but is that the reason for the usage? I was intrigued to find out. Right after Shabbat, I began searching further in a quest for an answer.

I discovered much commentary on this point. Ibn Ezra commenting on Numbers 15:38:3 writes about the thread of blue as being a sky-like color, also referring to threads that are not woven. That brought me to Haamek Davar, who compares ptil to Naftali, which means twistedness, entangled.  The matriarch Leah called her son Naftali, hoping that now her husband Jacob would be entangled with her. The blue thread is the one wrapping the rest of the strings. It reminds me how Broadway cuts across the avenues on an angle, connecting the other avenues that run parallel.

According to the Malbim, the string was entwined, interwoven. The blue resembles God’s throne, which connects everything from the inside.  Similarly, for Kitzur Ba’al HaTurim, the Techelet resembles the sky and the throne of God.  “…He who is careful with the mitzvah of tzitzit will see the face of the Shekhina — the glory of God, and God will carry him on wings of eagles.”  The Techelet, which means Everything, can bring everything together, bundled, integrated. It makes sense then that the sky-blue color was used also to construct the Tent of Meeting, God’s sanctuary, and the clothing of the High Priest. According to our Rabbis, the blue color was found in a sea creature, perhaps a squid or an octopus; we don’t know for sure. But a creature living in the water is like living in heaven.

And then there is the Kli Yakar, who says, “…This is the secret of the Techelet that reminds us of all the mitzvot. And by that he makes a full clothing for the soul, and he will not be buried naked until he becomes like Adam — the first human.  Only one mitzvah was given to him [to avoid the Tree of Knowledge], and he stripped himself from it. But there is another mitzvah that reminds us of all the mitzvot — love thy neighbor — which means that one string can bring the human being to the essence of everything…”

The blue string reminds us that we are connected directly to what is above us, that each of us is like a High Priest, and each blue string is part of the coat of blue worn by the High Priest. But since everything in the work of the High Priest and the Temple is about capturing the heavenly light, the ptil is also the wick in the eternal light. God’s original clothing for Adam and Eve before the sin was light. Therefore, the Zohar writes: “A candle is a Mitzvah and the Torah is the light. A candle without a light is nothing, and light without a candle cannot shine; both need each other: When we perform the Mitzvah, we correct the candle; and when we study Torah, we light the candle. To the Hasidic sages, the flame of the candle is made of white fire that wraps the heart of the flame in blue. The white fire symbolizes the Mitzvah, and the blue fire is the Torah.

Come join us every Shabbat as we journey through the Torah and navigate through life…

—Rabbi Gadi Capela

The day I returned from my recent trip to Israel, I attended the funeral of my dear friend Dr. Richard Dackow. Richard and his wife Linda were early students of Project Genesis Interfaith and participated in one of our pilgrimages to Israel. Richard, a devout Catholic, spent most of his time there at Israeli hospitals that he said had saved his life. Considering the closeness of our friendship, the family asked that I deliver a eulogy, and I was invited to sit on the altar with the Christian clergy.

Before the procession began, I found myself alone on the altar, waiting, when suddenly I saw a woman dressed in a long white alb. Since it was a Catholic church, I assumed she was an altar server. But then I noticed a yarmulke on her head. It looked as though it had come from someone’s home yarmulke stash — a white crocheted kipa that matched her white gown, perhaps purchased at the church’s thrift shop.

But then, wait a minute, out they came, priest by priest, each wearing a yarmulke. Why were all the clergy wearing yarmulkes?  Having landed just a few hours earlier, I thought maybe I was in a twilight zone between Israel and New York, and not beholding a vision of “Richard’s Challenge.”

A while before his death, Richard had talked with his good friend Robert Goldman, a Jewish psychologist colleague and a kindred spirit, who heads the non-for-profit organization Tikkun Long Island. As I learned, Richard had suggested to Robert that perhaps his organization could declare a National Yarmulke Day, when yarmulkes would be distributed to people of all faiths to wear in solidarity with the Jewish people. It would be an “I am Spartacus movement,” Richard had said.

At Richard’s wake, Robert shared this idea with those in attendance. It was suggested that if Robert could bring yarmulkes to the funeral Mass, the clergy would wear them. Moreover, Richard’s wife Linda volunteered to place a yarmulke on Richard’s head as he lay in the casket.

Before leaving his home for the funeral, Robert searched cabinet drawers for the yarmulke stash he had amassed over the years. In fact, he was somewhat skeptical that they would actually be worn in church, but on the off chance…  But when he arrived at the church, the priest approached him and immediately asked for the yarmulkes. Robert handed over all that he had brought, and then waited, wondering what would happen, just as Miriam waited to see what would happen to her brother Moses.

To Robert’s surprise, as the clergy approached the altar, all were wearing yarmulkes. “As a Jew who has experienced much antisemitism from many in the Christian faith, this was the most healing moment my mentor could have given me,” Robert said. “He was still teaching me.”

In short, I found support from Christian clergy then, and now Muslim clergy. My friend Sheikh Ghassan Manasra from the Abrahamic Reunion flew here from Florida this week to join us at an interfaith discussion held at Peconic Landing. With the Oct. 7 attack on Israeli citizens still raw in our minds, he welcomed the opportunity to share an important message — that regardless of religious affiliation, there are lines that humanity should not cross. At a time when Israel has been charged with genocide in the International Court of Justice in The Hague for responding appropriately to the attack, at a time when Jews are moving their doorpost mezuzahs inside, we should not despair but should continue to wear our Jewishness with pride.

—Rabbi Gadi Capela